


You'll turn and run from us someday

by VanaTuivana



Category: Wolverine (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 14:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12014853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanaTuivana/pseuds/VanaTuivana
Summary: I think your headcanon that Pierce might be Rictor's brother is fascinating, and I had fun exploring that idea here. Thank you for the excellent prompt.The title comes from "Brother" by First Aid Kit.





	You'll turn and run from us someday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hecate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecate/gifts).



Rictor’s been taking care of the kids for as long as he can remember, for so long he’s almost forgotten he’s still a kid himself. He’s not even the oldest -- that’s Rebecca and Mateo, but she’s sweet and he’s shy, neither of them tough like he is, so it’s his responsibility to look out for them and all the rest. He’s the one who stands as lookout when they’re playing something they shouldn’t, ready to disperse them when guards or doctors are on the way. He’s the one who makes sure Delilah has her blanket to hug when she’s scared of the dark. Who tucks away extra food for Jonah when he’s too upset to eat during mealtimes. Who sings Christopher that song his favorite nurse used to sing to him in secret before she was dismissed. Who talks to the littlest ones in Spanish so the doctors will have a harder time listening in, and so they’ll have something of the mothers they never knew.

He’s the one who fights back when the doctors push them too far, try to make them perform when they’re already shaking with exhaustion. He’s the one who takes the punishments on himself as much as he can, open-eyed and snarling as fiercely as little Laura -- even if he’s not nearly as wild as she is. Even if, unlike her, he can be _hurt_.

He’s brooding in the isolation unit where they stuck him to cool off after yet another dust-up with the doctors, idly shaking the floor beneath him until he can feel it in his bones. It’s somehow comforting, riding out the little quakes, knowing that he and only he is in control, up until the door slams open and four guards hustle in, body-armored and masked, batons in hand like they’re looking for a fight.

Rictor’s on his feet in an instant, his hands open and flexing with his power.

“Take it easy, darlin’,” drawls a voice from behind the guards that sends chills down Rictor’s spine, half familiar and feared, though he’s never heard it before. “We’re just here for a chat, nice and friendly. Aren’t we, boys?”

The man strolls in, a white blond guy in regular jeans and jacket and brown leather gloves. He’s taller than Rictor (which isn’t hard, at fifteen and probably doomed to be short forever), lanky, his eyes the same pale blue as ice. The same coldness, too. They’re fixed on Rictor’s face, unblinking, while the guards fan out and surround him.

“Who are you?” Rictor asks, bold despite the shiver of fear working its way down his back. They can’t really _do_ anything to him aside from maybe roughing him up a little, not when he’s already in isolation, the worst punishment the facility ever gives to kids who act out. His powers make him more valuable to the doctors than he is trouble; his powers and their importance to the doctors are his protection against the guards with all their weapons, and that makes him brave.

The new man sticks out one gloved hand. “Pierce.” He smiles. A gold tooth glints in his mouth. “New head of security. I can already tell you and I are going to be good friends.”

Rictor stays silent, lets his raised eyebrows express his feelings on that, and doesn’t shake Pierce’s hand.

He grins, slides his hand into his pocket, leans back against the seamless white wall of the isolation room. “Julio, Julio. Nobody ever taught you any manners, boy?”

“It’s _Rictor_ ,” he spits out, his hands balling into fists. The ground rumbles in response, and one of the guards calls out and snaps his baton warningly. Pierce waves him down casually without even glancing over.

“Says Julio right there on your file,” he says, raising his eyebrows in what even Rictor knows is fake surprise.

 _Julio_ is a name that belongs to a normal boy, somebody with a mom and dad and sisters and brothers, somebody who’s been to school and plays on sports teams and has birthdays and sees the sky firsthand, not just in pictures. _Julio_ is a person, not an experiment, not a weapon; _Julio_ couldn’t survive here -- so he hasn’t. 

_Rictor_ is what he became when he was eight, when he got the injection that worked, and his powers burst out of him for the first time, and he brought down half the hospital wing on top of the medical staff. 

(He was one of the first successful experiments, back when they weren’t prepared yet for just how destructive some of the kids’ powers were. He _killed_ someone that first day, one of the guards who wasn’t quick enough getting out of the way of his vibe-blast. The doctors never told him, and he isn’t supposed to know; he overheard two of the nurses talking about it weeks later, glancing at him with fear and pity on their faces.)

He glares at the floor, willing it to shake harder. The guards stumble, unprepared, but Pierce just tsks with his tongue and steps forward, rolling with the shuddering stone floor like it’s nothing. “Cool it, little man,” he advises, smiling, almost friendly. “You know, I don’t want to have to _hurt_ you.”

That could be a warning, or a threat, or a challenge, or all three at once. But this guy hasn’t seen the half of what he can do yet. Rictor pushes _out_ with one hand, blasting him square in the chest.

Pierce _should_ be thrown straight back into the wall. Even the guards behind him get tossed aside like they’re paper targets instead of people, four armored bodies thudding loud against the thick white walls. But Pierce walks straight through the blast without flinching, draws back his gloved hand, and slaps Rictor hard across the face.

His neck snaps back with the force of that blow, ears ringing, and for a moment he’s too shocked to notice the burning pain spreading over his face, or that the ground’s stopped shaking.

“Much better,” says Pierce. Rictor’s vision is blurred, but he doesn’t miss the man pulling his gloves off, one at a time, to reach into his pocket and pull out a white square of cloth. “There you go, darlin’. Tip your head forward, hold pressure on your nose.” He offers it out in his hand which isn’t a hand. It’s metal, moving with inhuman, liquid precision in ways no human hand would ever move.

“What are you?” Rictor says thickly through the blood that’s sliding down his throat. It’s dripping down over his lips and onto his shirt, but he doesn’t take the handkerchief. “How did you--”

“Ah,” Pierce says, lifting one metal finger warningly. “I’m asking the questions here, little man.” He smiles again, that gold tooth glinting, and Rictor (who never backs down, who would die before admitting to any of the adults that he’s scared) shrinks back against the wall.

.

The guards bring him back to the rest of them hours later with a black eye, a swollen cheek and a split lip, and the ache of confusion and frustration in his gut. 

The nurse Luisa says some Spanish words he’s never taught the little kids when she sees him, and holds an icepack to his face, her lips pressed together until they’re thin and pale as paper. “Who did this to you?” she asks, and Rictor hunches his shoulders and doesn’t answer.

The kids have the same question. They crowd around him in the group recreation room with wide eyes and open mouths. Delilah, who’s the youngest and doesn’t even have her powers yet, bawls at the sight of him. Rebecca hugs him for way too long, her long hair catching all over his face. Jonah scowls and brings fire to his clenched fist until Marisa shoves him to make him stop.

Laura stares, narrow-eyed, unblinking, and Rictor catches her eye and shakes his head.

He doesn’t answer them, either, but Rafael says, “It was the new security officer. His name is Pierce.” His eyes are closed in concentration. His powers are still new, but he’s learning fast, his control is unprecedented, and his potential is off the charts; Rictor’s heard the doctors talking about him with delight in their voices that twists his stomach. “He’s got a robot hand. You blasted him and he didn’t even stumble. He’s immune to our powers. He hit you. He asked you what you know about our fathers. You’re angry and confused and... and you’re sc--”

“Hey,” Rictor says hastily, snapping his fingers to pull Rafael out of it. “We agreed, remember? No reading any of our minds unless it’s an emergency.”

He goes red and looks at his feet. “Sorry, Rictor. But... it’s true, isn’t it?”

Rictor doesn’t need reminding: the hot, dull throb of his face and lingering tang of blood in his throat won’t let him forget. “Look,” he says to all of them. “This new guy, Pierce, stay away from him. He’s dangerous. That’s all you need to know.”

He makes them go back to playing with their puzzles and balls, facility-approved toys for improving hand-eye coordination, attention to detail, ability to identify patterns. Even their recreation time is a test. Rictor watches Miranda bounce a ball as gently as she can to Christopher. It flies wildly out of control despite her care; Miranda is stronger than any of them, and precision isn’t her greatest skill yet.

When the ball smacks against the observation window, all the kids look up, and they all go quiet at once. Two of the doctors are there, watching them play. And behind them, Rictor catches the flash of a gold tooth and the glint of ice-blue eyes.

.

The next time Rictor’s brought into the hospital wing for a checkup, he asks Dr. Rice, “Are there people our powers won’t work on?”

Rice looks up from his computer, focusing fully on Rictor. It makes him uncomfortable to be pinned by the doctor’s eyes, but he swallows the unease down and stares back. “It’s possible,” Rice answers after a moment. “I once heard of a mutant who could nullify other mutants’ powers -- turn them off temporarily. There have been devices designed to make the user impervious to certain abilities. Then there’s the unproven theory about biologically-related mutants possessing abilities that naturally shield them from the effects of one another’s powers. Those possibilities, I believe, comprise the prevailing wisdom on the topic.” He sets the computer down, giving Rictor his full attention. “Why do you ask, Julio?”

Rictor shrugs, closing his mouth firmly, and doesn’t say another word.

Pierce is there with the guards who march him back to his regular room, like he _knows_. Rictor doesn’t look at him, but his heart jumps into his throat and he can feel the man’s eyes digging into the back of his head as he walks, fast as the guards will let him just to get away.

Once Rictor is back in his room, Pierce sends the guards away. He stays, leaning casually in the doorway with his robot hand draped over the other elbow. “How’s the nose, darlin’?”

Rictor doesn’t want to look at him. He glares straight in front of him, instead, and flexes his fist, calling a stone from the wall until it rattles and slides out of its place with a grinding groan

“That’s some power you’ve got there, little man,” Pierce remarks. “Just like your daddy.”

Rictor’s breath stutters in his chest. “What?”

Pierce is smiling at him, shiny-sharp, when he looks over. “I said, just like your--”

From the end of the hallway someone calls to him, and the man looks over his shoulder. He pushes away from the doorway, gives Rictor a little careless wave, and he’s gone.

Rictor can’t think about anything for days but the word _daddy_ , and Dr. Rice saying _biologically-related_.

(Pierce can’t be his father. All the mutants are dead; Rictor and the kids are the only ones left. All their fathers are nothing but DNA samples scraped from dead mutants. It’s impossible.)

.

He asks the nurse Luisa, as quietly as he can, in Spanish, while the kids are playing, to find out who his father was. She shakes her head silently, looking at him with upset in her dark eyes.

But the next day she shows him a blurry phone photo of one page of his file, under the table. He stares at it until the name _Dominic Petros_ becomes clear. He died twenty years ago.

There’s a photo. If he squints -- 

Even when he squints, it’s not Pierce. There’s no way it’s him.

He breathes out in a long sigh, and Luisa squeezes his hand.

“Rictor,” she says, so softly he can barely hear, her eyes darting everywhere, “I want you to know there’s a plan to get you all away from this place. You’re going to be free soon. You’ll know when.”

.

From there, it’s two weeks until the end of Transigen.

.

It’s chaos, like a nightmare, with alarms blaring and guards shouting and the nurses running from room to room, unlocking the kids’ doors and telling them all to _run_. The doctors are nowhere to be seen. 

Neither is Pierce.

Rictor grabs the wailing Delilah on his back and runs, herding a group of kids toward the hallway that leads to freedom. A pair of guards block their way; Jonah gathers a fist full of fire and hurls it, and Marisa shoves them apart with an invisible wall, and the kids tumble through.

“Rictor!” Gabriela, who’s been assigned to Laura practically since she was born, signals to him from the supply room. She pushes a heavy pack into Rictor’s arms. “Take this and get them out. Go north. Laura and I -- we’ll meet you in Eden.”

Before he can ask what Eden is, she vanishes back into the maze of labs. Delilah is silent on his back, clinging tight like a monkey, and there’s no time to do anything but yell at the kids to _move, move_.

When he looks back to see if any more are coming, Pierce is leaning against the wall. His hair is messy, his jacket singed and smoking and his one real hand is dripping blood, but he grins at Rictor anyway.

“Hey, darlin’,” he says over the blaring sirens. “Leaving so soon? And we barely got to know each other.”

(He could get rid of Pierce right now. He could collapse the hallway on top of him. He might be immune to mutant powers, or maybe just Rictor’s powers, because they might be related or it might be some kind of trick, but no one is immune to being crushed by rock and metal.

He won’t do it, because he’s not the weapon they tried to make him. If he can get out now he won’t ever have to be.)

Rictor backs away, ready to send a warning tremor through the floor if the man makes any move toward the kids, but Pierce just flicks his fingers at him. “Go on, little man. Don’t you worry, we’ll see each other again soon.”

“No,” Rictor says, strong and sure, and for once not even pretending. “We won’t.”

He turns and runs, north, toward freedom.

**Author's Note:**

> I think your headcanon that Pierce might be Rictor's brother is fascinating, and I had fun exploring that idea here. Thank you for the excellent prompt.
> 
> The title comes from "Brother" by First Aid Kit.


End file.
